


The Noldolante

by Elvewen



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:38:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2638385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvewen/pseuds/Elvewen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The birth of the Noldolante</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Noldolante

**Author's Note:**

> Written to the prompt to write a story with Charles Dickens' opening line from A Tale of Two Cities: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." that I saw on SWG (rather belatedly).
> 
> This was remarkably hard to write because I wanted to try to capture, not only the emotion of the song, but also the people that may have gone into its making. I find it hard to believe that Maglor could have composed it without drawing inspiration from the events in his life, not only the more epic moments, but the personal ones as well. 
> 
> Also, this is my first story, and not beta-ed so please do not judge me too harshly.

‘When he found his voice, he looked up to her, her blue eyes did not scorn him, were not repulsed by him and so he found his courage to ask again – “If you would deign to be my wife.” All she said was “Yes”.’

It was the best of times.

“Let those who curse my name, curse me still and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar. Let the ships burn!”

It was the worst of times.

‘“This was not of your making” she insisted. “We will get through this. Have faith in yourself. “She cupped his face, pushed back a strand of blood red hair. “Have Faith in us”’

It was the age of wisdom.

‘Orodreth would not march forth at the word of any son of Feanor because of the deeds of Celegorm and Curufin.’

It was the age of foolishness.

‘“O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!”’

It was the epoch of belief.

‘“The Valar will never act, never see justice done. Even I can show more mercy than they. And I have nothing left to lose.”’*

It was the epoch of incredulity.

‘But as the host of Fingolfin marched into Mithrim, the sun rose flaming in the west.’

It was the season of light.

‘In that hour was made a darkness that seemed not lack but a thing with being of its own; for it was indeed made by malice out of light and it had the power to pierce the eye, and enter the heart and mind, and strangle the very will.’

It was the season of darkness.

‘It rose unlooked for, glittering and bright and the people of Middle Earth beheld it from afar and wondered; and they took it for a sign, and called it Gil-Estel, the star of High Hope’

It was the spring of hope.

‘Then in the plain of Anfauglith, on the fourth day of the war, there began Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Unnumbered Tears, for no song or tale can contain all its grief.’

It was the winter of despair.

‘“The deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda”

We had everything before us.

‘”To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin and fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be forever.”’

We had nothing before us.

We are the Noldor. It is not in us to sit idle, wringing our hands uselessly at our fate or indulging in pointless self pity and torturous what-ifs. Though, over the years, we have done our fair share of both.

As a veil over every victory and every defeat, every sorrow and every joy, every courageous step and nervous leap, was the Doom of Mandos. But we did not need to actively remember its vengeful words - through the age, it presented itself. In every touch that failed to bring any true comfort, in every tear that failed to bring relief. In every embrace that failed in its sincerity, in every song that failed to lift the heart, in every defeat that fell just shy of victory. In every moment that could have been, but was not.

But our time in these lands was not all sorrow and pain. There is great joy to be found here. Where every day is a new one, not the same day repeating endlessly - unto forever. Where every moment is more poignant because it is unique, because it could be the last. Because here, we cannot afford to take our immortality for granted.

As one clear note flowed to the next, rising to become a harmony so complete, all-encompassing, eternal – the long, nimble beautiful fingers that played them trembled ever so slightly. 

This song was more than music to him, it was more than memory. For it was of a time that, for all its flaws, was the most beautiful in his life. And what made it all the more painfully memorable to him was that this song was its people. They were those who made it – their actions, beliefs, hopes, uncertainties. 

His song was for them, whom he loved above all others, for all those who were lost, for all those who remained but with the ever present pain of the past.

His song was conflict and courage, it was admission and atonement, it was battle and brotherhood, it was desperation and defiance. 

His song was his people.

**Author's Note:**

> * Taken with permission from Spiced Wine’s Dark Prince - Thank you so much!  
> All the quotes except the one mentioned above, the first and the third are from the Silmarillion.


End file.
